


Hiding Something

by VictoriaHolmesWriting



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, F/M, Married Sherlock, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23281729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaHolmesWriting/pseuds/VictoriaHolmesWriting
Summary: Sherlock and his wife get into an argument that might determine the fate of their marriage.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Reader
Kudos: 80





	Hiding Something

“Sherlock, I don’t have time for your games right now,” his wife sighed in exasperation. “Can you, please, just tell me what’s wrong?”

The detective gave her a sharp look before he returned to his microscope and the dissected mystery-flower on the kitchen table. This attitude was all she’d gotten out of him for the past two days.

That was it! That was the last fucking straw!

Furious, she picked up the Union Jack pillow from John’s chair and chucked it at his head. It collided with the side of his face, completely taking him by surprise.

“I’ve had it with you and you childish games, Sherlock Holmes!” she yelled. “I’m going to John and Mary’s tonight. If you love me and care about this marriage at all, you will come find me in the morning, apologize, and explain yourself -- _thoroughly._ And it better be good because you may never see me again if you don’t!”

Sherlock watched her storm to their room to get her things. He knew she meant it.

Fine. If they were going to have this fight, it was clearly now or never, or she would lose her. And he still wasn’t quite sure that’s what he wanted.

He followed her to their room.

“Are you sure you aren’t going to your boyfriend’s?” he spat. All the anger and betrayal he’d been feeling punched the sentence out in the nastiest tone he’d ever used with her.

(Y/N) froze. She dropped the shirt in her hand and turned towards him.

The pained look on her face told Sherlock that he’d made a big mistake. But how? How could he be wrong? He was so sure she was having an affair. What did he miss?

“Is that really what you think?” she demanded in a dangerously quiet voice. Tears started streaming down her face. “Is that really what you think _of me?_ Is that why you’ve been treating me like shit these last few days? How fucking dare you!”

“You’re hiding something,” Sherlock defended, not wanting to admit how very wrong he was.

“Well, use your brain,” she screamed back. “Use that giant brain you’re so bloody proud of and figure it the fuck out.”

Before Sherlock could say anything else, she fled the apartment, slamming the doors.

He knew better than to go after her right now; so he simply watched her go around the corner and out of site from his window. His brows were knit close together as he tried to figure out what his wife was keeping from him.

She wasn’t sleeping with someone else. That much was obvious by her reaction to the accusation. She wasn’t that good of an actor. But it was also obvious that she was hiding something. She’d admitted it, even if it wasn’t in so many words.

The challenge was set -- and he would figure it out.

~ ~ ~

Sherlock spent the rest of the night tearing 221B apart, room by room. Each room turned up less than the one before.

Around 4 am, Sherlock started on the final room: the bathroom.

He checked everywhere -- in the shower, under the sink, on the sink, the medicine cabinet, the towel basket, absolutely everywhere -- but there was nothing.

Nothing….

Holy fuck, there was nothing!

Sherlock pulled everything out from under the sink again, this time, looking for what wasn’t there.

There were no tampons or pads.

Gasping for breath as he began to realize what this meant, Sherlock wracked his brain, trying to remember the last time she’d had a period.

Four months.

It’d been four months since his wife's last period. How could he have missed that?

Not bothering to grab his jacket, Sherlock bolted out the door.

At 5 am, he was pounding on John’s door and shouting her name.

As soon as she opened the door, he dropped to his knees. “I’m sorry,” he said, earnestly. “I’m so sorry! I know I’ve been busy. Too busy, evidently. But I should have realized sooner.”

She crossed her arms protectively as she looked down at him. “Realized what?” she prompted, tentatively.

Sherlock reached up and uncrossed her arms, taking her hands in his. “(Y/N), are you pregnant?”

Crying again, she slowly nodded.

Completely out of words, Sherlock wrapped his arms around his wife, kissing her stomach and holding her as tightly as he dared, given the circumstances.

Cautiously, she ran her fingers through his curly hair. “Does this mean you’re happy about the baby?”

“Yes! Oh my god, yes!”


End file.
